Isaiah
by paperstorm
Summary: Part of my Deleted Scenes series. The tag for 'Fallen Idols', 5x5. Wincest.


**Contains dialogue from the episode 'Fallen Idols', it belongs to Eric Kripke and Julie Siege.**

**Part of my Deleted Scenes series. Full list of fics in reading order available on my profile page. They will make more sense if read in order. :)**

* * *

_Woe to those who call evil good and good evil, who put darkness for light and light for darkness._

_Isaiah 5:20_

"Sheriff Carnegie," Dean says, shutting his cell phone. "Danielle's gonna be alright. She's sworn off _The Simple Life_, but other then that."

"Glad she's okay."

"It gets better. Sheriff's puttin' out an A.P.B. on Paris Hilton," Dean laughs like a little kid. "That oughta be good."

Sam smiles, but doesn't find it quite as funny as Dean does. It's isn't easy to find much funny these days.

Dean opens the trunk and tosses his bags into it. "Listen, I was thinkin' about what you said yesterday. About me keepin' too tight of a leash on you. Maybe you're right."

Sam frowns and isn't sure what to say. He never thought he'd hear Dean admit that. He never thought Dean would _agree_ to it. Sam's been bugging Dean about being too protective since he was five; Dean's never once done anything but tell Sam he's not going to stop.

"I mean, look, I'm not exactly Mr. Innocent in this whole mess either, you know? I did break the first seal."

"You didn't know," Sam points out.

"Yeah, well, neither did you," Dean says, and he looks like he means that. "I'm not saying demon blood was a great way to go, but you did kill Lilith."

"And start the Apocalypse." Sam's happy to hear Dean isn't mad at him anymore, but he's never going to stop being mad at himself.

"Which neither of us saw coming. I mean, who'd'a thought killing Lilith would've been a bad thing?"

Sam swallows, nods, and then looks down at his hands. Dean's forgiveness both helps and hurts at the same time. It's what he's been craving, but he still knows he doesn't deserve it. Sam thinks he'd almost feel better if Dean hated him. Because at least that would be fair.

"Point is, I was so worried about watching your every move that I didn't see what it was actually doing to you," Dean continues. "So, for that, I'm sorry."

"Thanks," Sam says softly, because he doesn't know what else to say.

Dean shuts the trunk. "So, where do we go from here?"

"The way I see it, we got one shot at surviving this."

"What's that?"

"Maybe I am on deck for the devil. Maybe same with you and Michael, maybe there's no changing that."

"Well that's encouraging," Dean mutters sarcastically.

"But, we can stop wringing our hands over it. We gotta just grab on to whatever's in front of us, kick its ass, and go down fighting."

"I can get on board with that."

"Yeah. But we're gonna have to do it on the same level."

Dean nods. "You got it. What d'you say we get the hell outta here?"

"Hell yeah." Sam turns, on his way to the passenger's side of the car, when Dean stops him.

"Hey. You wanna drive?"

Sam frowns at the keys in Dean's hand. "You sure?"

"Yeah. I could, uh … I could use a nap."

He's lying and they both know it, but the gesture is purposeful and obvious and it means more to Sam than he could say. He takes the keys from his brother and they switch sides, walking around each other and the car and getting in the wrong seat. Sam's driven this car tons of times in his life, but it doesn't happen often and it still doesn't feel quite right. Mostly it's having Dean on his right side that feels so unfamiliar.

Dean doesn't sleep – Sam knew he wouldn't. He also doesn't tell Sam where to go, or change the radio station when Sam picks one that plays music from _this_ decade. Both are just as deliberate as letting Sam drive, and they make Sam smile even though he won't mention it because Dean would deny it if he did. They drive on the highway to nowhere like they always do after a hunt. Sam has missed this. The dry, grey landscape whips by the windows and the car buzzes underneath him as the wheels roll on the pavement. There have been so many times in his life when heading nowhere in this car felt like a death sentence, and right now if feels like being home. Even with Dean on the wrong side.

"So, um." Sam presses his lips together for a moment. "I want you to know that what I said, about going off with Ruby to get away from you … I meant it, I just didn't mean it the way it came out."

"Okay," Dean says slowly.

"It wasn't about not being with you. It was about being …" He pauses again. Their truce is tenuous at best and Sam doesn't want to ruin it. "When I worked with her, we were equal. Neither of us was in charge, y'know? If we made a decision we made it together, not …"

"Yeah," Dean sighs, so Sam doesn't have to say it.

"It's not like I don't …" Sam wants to tell Dean he loves him, but it doesn't feel like they're there quite yet.

"I know that." Dean stares out the window for a moment before he continues. "I know I boss you around. I … I'm not sayin' I'll be able to just stop, alright? It's all left over from when you were a kid and I _had_ to tell you what to do and look out for you. It's hard to just change the way you've always been. But I'm gonna try, Sam. I really will."

"I don't ever want you to stop looking out for me," Sam tells him, glancing over at his brother and smiling a little.

Dean smiles too. "Yeah, that one probably isn't goin' anywhere."

"Good."

"So where are we goin'?"

Sam grins, and teases, "It's just killing you that you don't know, huh?"

Dean laughs a little in spite of himself. "No. I trust you. Just curious."

"Nowhere in particular, I guess. You tired?"

"Kinda always tired," Dean says with a shrug.

"Yeah." Sam laughs, even though he knows what Dean means, and that's sadder than it is funny. "So we should get a room, then. Unless you've got another hunt lined up."

"Not yet."

"Kay."

Sam drives until there's an exit sign for a town called Green, but Dean tells him to keep going.

"It's only like twenty minutes to Akron."

"So?"

"So the best they'll have in a place called Green is a roadside dump that'll probably give us crabs."

Sam frowns and smiles at him at the same time. "We live in roadside dumps that might give us crabs."

"Well that sucks. We deserve something nicer once in a while, don't you think?" Dean looks at him with raised eyebrows, and there's something else he isn't saying but Sam doesn't want to push.

"Okay."

He makes Sam drive around for another twenty minutes once they get to Akron before he finally agrees on a Holiday Inn that's way out of their usual price-range, with a joke about how it's too bad there isn't a Hilton in town. Sam laughs at that, but he's still confused about why they're shelling out the big bucks for a nice room when there were six perfectly fine no-questions motels along the highway. Even he has to admit the place is nice, though, and the beds look clean and cozy and the room doesn't smell like cigarettes and somebody else's sex-sweat, so he doesn't argue.

"I'm gonna shower," Dean says as he drops his bag onto the chair by the window, and he pats Sam on the shoulder as he walks past him into the bathroom.

Sam wants to ask to join him more than anything, but it's still too soon so he doesn't. He looks out the window for a few minutes – they're on the fourth floor so there's actually a view other than the parking lot like the places they usually stay in. Then he turns the TV on and doesn't manage to find anything good before Dean comes out of the bathroom in a t-shirt and boxers. Sam swallows over a lump in his throat and tries not to look at him. There aren't many things in Sam's life he's ever found sexier than Dean like that – comfortable and relaxed with his guard down – and wanting Dean more than he already does would just complicate things further. Sam takes his turn in the shower instead, trying very hard to convince himself he's imagining that the spacious shower stall smells like Dean.

When he's finished, he finds Dean lying on his back on one of the beds, with his hands behind his head and his legs crossed.

"Comfy?" Sam asks, not able to keep the smile off his face.

Dean groans appreciatively and smiles too, not opening his eyes. "Yes it is."

Sam walks over and sits on the other bed facing Dean, folding his hands in his lap.

"You ever feel like just turning off your phone and sleeping for like three days?" Dean asks, cracking one eye open briefly to look at Sam.

"Yeah," Sam answers. He wishes the idea didn't make him sad.

Dean falls silent for a few minutes, and then with his eyes still closed he asks, "You wanna tell me what's wrong?"

Sam sighs and rubs his hands through his damp hair. "Just wish this wasn't awkward, I guess."

Dean pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and then lets it slide free. Sam watches it and his heart skips a beat or two. Then Dean sits up and swings his legs over the edge of the mattress, his feet on the floor as he mirrors Sam's position and looks at him. "Doesn't have to be."

Sam shrugs and doesn't know what else to say.

"We just restart, okay? Put everything in the rear-view and move on."

"You think we can?" Sam asks.

Dean nods. "Yeah. I do. You made a mistake, Sam. I mean, it was a hell of a mistake, but … look, the thing is? I was right, about Ruby, but that's not 'cause I'm smarter or because I knew something you didn't. She was workin' us both from the minute she showed up and she did a damn good job of it. She was either gonna be a good guy or a bad guy. It was fifty-fifty, y'know? And I picked right, but that was just luck. I just as easily could've been wrong."

Sam nods and presses his lips together as emotion wells up in his throat.

"I'm not sayin' you didn't screw up. I'm sayin' you were goin' offa faulty intel."

"You don't need to make excuses for me."

"I'm not."

"Yeah, you are. And I appreciate it, I really do, but … I still did what I did. I still gotta live with that, and I still gotta find some way to make it right."

Dean gets up, and he walks over to sit next to Sam on the bed, reaching over and squeezing his hand around Sam's thigh. "When we had you locked up in the panic room? I was freaked out and Bobby was trying to calm me down by tellin' me what you were like when I was gone. And I was being me, tellin' him to stop making excuses for you, and he told me there's a big difference between an excuse and a reason. And he was right. An excuse is saying it wasn't your fault. But a reason is just … it's an explanation of why something happened. You know? You're not blameless in all this, that's not what I'm sayin'. And neither am I. But the angels lied to both of us. We were both makin' decisions without all the information. So maybe you did the best you could with what you had. Maybe that's what Bobby was trying to tell me, back then."

Sam frowns and looks at his brother, something he said not quite making sense. "What did the angels lie about?"

Dean looks at him for a minute like he doesn't understand the question, and then his eyes widen. "Shit. Did I not tell you that?"

"Tell me what?"

"They didn't want us to stop it. They never did. They were _all_ manipulating us, Sam. Angels, demons, even Cas. They all had their part in this. You let the Devil out because they all wanted you to."

Sam blinks and shakes his head a little in confusion. "How do you know that?"

"While you were off with Ruby that night? Cas and Zachariah had me locked up. So I couldn't get to you, so I couldn't stop you. The angels didn't _want_ us to stop the world from ending. They wanted you to break the last seal."

Sam still can't quite wrap his mind around that. It makes no sense, but it also makes him feel like maybe he's been beating himself up just a little bit too much. He'll still never forgive himself for the part he played in letting the Devil out of his cage, but maybe a good chunk of the blame doesn't belong on him. It's an enormous weight off his shoulders. "Why didn't you ever tell me that?"

"I forgot I hadn't until right now," Dean says. "With everything else goin' on."

For a minute, Sam stares off into space and thinks back over the last year of his life, trying to reconcile this new information with all the mistakes he now knows he made. Then he mutters, "Fuck. So they were behind everything?"

"I don't know. I just know they knew Lilith was the final seal, and they didn't want me to stop you from killing her. They were pullin' your strings as much as Ruby was. Mine too."

Sam nods and stares down at his knees. "That's … I don't even know what that is. Crazy doesn't even cut it."

"Yeah," Dean agrees. "Words really don't do justice to how messed up this all is, do they?"

"Not even close," Sam says, exhaling heavily and shaking his head.

Dean reaches tentatively over and brushes the hair off Sam's face, and Sam can't help closing his eyes and leaning into his touch. "We let them get between us, Sammy. That's why this happened."

"I didn't mean to," Sam whispers. Dean calling him _Sammy_ right now is tugging at all kinds of strings in his heart and making it hard to breathe. After he messed everything up, after he chose Ruby and ruined everything, he was so terrified he'd never be Sammy again.

"I know." Dean moves in closer, sliding his fingers through Sam's hair and then wrapping his arm around Sam's shoulder. "I'm not saying you did. I didn't either. We just can't do it again. It's gotta be you and me first and everything else second."

Sam nods and tries to blink away tears. He still feels like he let Dean down in more ways than he ever thought he could. He's been trying to move past it, to focus on cleaning up the mess he made instead, but sometimes that isn't so easy.

"It's okay," Dean says softly, wrapping both arms around Sam and pulling him in. Sam collapses against him and buries his face in Dean's neck. "This is their fault, alright? The angels and the demons. We were just pawns, man. Who knows how long they've been planning this, how many other things they manipulated over the years to get us to the point where we'd do exactly what they wanted us to. This is on them, not us. Not you."

Sam shakes his head, not because he disagrees, but because suddenly it's all too much and he wants to be able to shove it back down but he can't. The guilt he still feels, the shame and the regret, sometimes it covers him like tar from the inside and he can't shake it off. A few hot tears spill down his cheeks. Dean just hugs him while he breaks for a minute or two, and then he wipes the few tears off Sam's face and kisses him. It's just a soft, innocent brush of their lips but to Sam it feels like salvation. It's been nearly a month since they started hunting together again but they haven't been _together_. Not like before. They've been cohabitating at best, and Sam completely understood why and didn't blame Dean for not wanting him anymore, but other than that first night they haven't even been sleeping in the same bed and Sam's spent most nights lying awake, listening to Dean breathe across the room, and dying to be in his arms.

Sam lets Dean control it because he needs this kiss to be something Dean really wants, not something he's doing because he thinks Sam wants it. Dean just slides his lips over Sam's, slowly and without much heat, and then he parts his lips and deepens it and Sam isn't even remotely in control of the pathetic whimper that comes out of his mouth.

"You want this, right?" Dean asks, moving back just enough to whisper the words against Sam's lips.

"Yeah," Sam breathes. "So much. Thought you didn't anymore."

Dean shakes his head, his hands resting on either side of Sam's face and his thumbs brushing over Sam's cheekbones. "Pretty sure you could stab me in the chest and I'd still want you."

He means it has a joke, but it makes Sam sad again. "I wish you didn't feel so obligated to me."

"It's not obligation, Sammy. It's … I don't know. It's just us. After everything we've been through, everything we are, I don't think I'm capable of not wanting every piece of you you're willing to give me."

"Everything. Every bit of me has always been yours," Sam tells him. "So much that it isn't a good thing sometimes. 'Cause when you were gone …"

"I know," Dean murmurs. He slides his thumb over Sam's bottom lip and then kisses it. He nudges Sam backwards and Sam lies down while Dean crawls over him and settles pressed up against Sam's side and propped up on his elbow. He looks down at Sam with love and understanding in his eyes, and that breaks Sam a little more. "I know it sucked for you."

Sam blinks a few times and swallows thickly. "I feel so stupid talking about it. 'Cause what happened to you …"

Dean drops his gaze. He lets his hand rest on the center of Sam's chest and stares at it. Sam knows Dean doesn't like to talk, or think, about Hell. Sam doesn't like to think about it either, but sometimes he can't help it.

"M'sorry," he says softly. "I shouldn't have brought it up."

Dean shrugs a little. "It's not a contest, Sam. We can both be screwed up."

Sam nods. He chews on the inside of his cheek and wishes Dean would look at him. "I'm not okay," he mumbles. "The whole year before you died was so damn hard. And then the Trickster took you away from me for six months and that was … and then you were really gone and I didn't save you, and I … I'm just still not okay about it."

Dean slides down off his elbow so he's lying down completely, his head on the pillow and his forehead pressed to the side of Sam's face. He rests his arm across Sam's chest and Sam wraps his arms around Dean's back, grateful that Dean is giving in to the comfort Sam's offering instead of pushing him away.

"I'm not okay either," Dean says, in a soft whisper like it's a valuable secret. "Wouldn't admit that you anyone but you. I don't think it's something we're just gonna get over, y'know? We just gotta find a way to keep goin'."

"Sometimes I can. And then other times it feels impossible."

"I know. The thing is … I don't wanna be broken but I am. So if I have to be, I wanna be broken with you."

Tears burn behind Sam's eyes again and he turns his head so he can kiss Dean's forehead. "I like the sound'a that."

Dean shifts so he's half on top of Sam and then he's kissing him again, slow but deep and passionate and Sam feels it all the way down to his toes. For a long time, that's all it is. Dean's lips against his, his tongue sliding lazily next to Sam's, the heat from his body pressed all along Sam's side. Sam's head starts spinning way too soon and his cock stirs and hardens in his jeans, and he can feel Dean's stiffening flesh pressing against his hip, but Sam would still be okay if this is as far as it goes tonight. He's _missed_ Dean. Honestly, he wouldn't care if they just lied here wrapped up together and slept. That alone would be more than enough. Sam just wants to feel close to Dean again; he just wants to get back everything they've lost since Dean made the deal. The last two years have chipped so much away from both of them that Sam's always afraid they'll never be able to rebuild. With Dean in his arms now, though, Sam feels like there's hope, and that's more than he's felt in a long time so if making out like teenagers is where this is going, Sam is happy.

Then Dean rolls a little more on top of Sam, the firm muscles of his leg pressing into Sam's crotch, and Sam's not complaining about that either. He tilts his hips up just a little, chasing after the pressure on his quickly filling erection, and Dean takes the hint. He presses his thigh down into Sam as he swirls his tongue around in Sam's mouth, and a high-pitched sound escapes past Sam's lips that he'd be embarrassed about with anyone but Dean. With Dean, Sam's never worried about things like that. Dean grinds against him, his leg moving deliciously against Sam's cock through the fabric of Sam's jeans and his own hard cock rubbing against Sam's hip. He moans a little too, and Sam lights up inside like he always does when he makes his big brother feel good.

"What are we doin'?" Dean asks into Sam's mouth.

"Whatever you want." Sam pushes his hands up under Dean's thin t-shirt, sliding his hands over Dean's warm, soft skin and the gorgeous muscles in his back. He's been wanting _everything_ since the second Dean let him come back, but he wanted Dean to make the first move. Sam knows how badly he messed up, how much he let Dean down, and he wanted to let Dean come to him.

"What do you want?" Dean insists, and it's so _Dean_ that it makes Sam happy and sad at the same time.

He cups Dean's face in his hands and kisses him tenderly. "You know what I really want? I wanna be seventeen again. I wanna go back to before everything was so complicated. When nothing ever happened that couldn't be fixed by Dad leaving us alone for a weekend and you fucking me until neither of us could walk and then falling asleep so tangled up we couldn't figure out whose limbs were whose."

Dean shivers a little and inhales sharply. He rests his forehead against Sam's and nips gently at his bottom lip. "God. I want that too."

"Everything was so good back then," Sam murmurs. "And now it's so messed up."

"It isn't your fault, Sammy," Dean says, even though Sam didn't say it was. It's Sam's turn to shiver – the nickname affecting him again even though Dean's called him that a bunch of times in the last half hour.

"It isn't your fault either. So let's get it back. Like you said. Let's stop letting the world take it away from us." Sam kisses him before adding, "As much as we can, anyway."

"Yeah. Sounds good."

Sam tugs Dean's shirt up to his armpits and says, "Off."

Dean sits up, straddling Sam's hips – Sam's saliva glands tingle at the sight of Dean obviously hard in his worn boxers – and pulls his shirt over his head. "You too."

Sam nods and sits up when Dean gets off of him. He wiggles out of his clothes while Dean goes over to his bag and digs around for something; Sam has a pretty good idea what.

"Were you, um …" Dean hesitates with one hand hovering over his bag and doesn't look back at Sam. "Were you with anyone? When you were off on your own?"

Sam knows why he's asking. If Sam was and didn't use a condom, he needs to get tested before they go raw, just in case. It's a perfectly logical question but Dean sounds sad when he asks it, and that hurts somewhere deep in Sam's chest. "No," he says.

"What about Ruby?"

"No way. That was a one-time thing, while you were in Hell and I was shattered to pieces. I never touched her again after you were back. Not like that, anyway."

Dean glances at him with his forehead creased, like he desperately wants reassurance but also doesn't want Sam to know how important it is.

"Hey." Sam sits up, not caring how exposed he is sitting there completely nude while Dean's still got his underwear on, and holds his hand out. Dean walks back with a small tube in one hand and slides the other hand into Sam's. Sam pushes at Dean's boxers until he can get them down far enough for Dean to step out of them, and then he lets Sam pull him back down onto the bed. He lands on top of Sam again and Sam holds Dean's face and kisses him. "I swear. I couldn't even think about that. Missed you too much."

"Kay," Dean whispers. "I don't have anything anyway, so."

Sam knows that isn't really what it's about for Dean, but he doesn't say it. He rolls his hips up into Dean's, nerve endings lighting up at the feeling of Dean's cock sliding against his. It still takes him by surprise sometimes, even after all these years, that he gets to have this. That Dean wants him back, wants him _still_ after all the times he's screwed up. He nudges Dean to get him to hurry up. Maybe later they can go again, and Sam can lay Dean out in this big, soft bed and kiss and lick every inch of him; spread apologies over his skin that say more than Sam's words ever could. He wants to make Dean beg, to bring him right up to the edge of losing it, back off, and then bring him back over and over again until Dean can't take anymore. Right now, though, Sam just wants Dean inside him, claiming him, making them one again.

Dean kisses along Sam's jaw and down his neck, moving slowly backwards down Sam's body as he nips at Sam's skin and slides his tongue over the sting. Sam closes his eyes for just a moment and lets himself float in the feeling of Dean's lips on his chest and the comfort of being taken care of. Dean's always been good at that – at knowing exactly what Sam needs, in bed and out of it, and doing whatever he needs to do to make sure Sam gets it. It's his mission, his sole purpose in life, to take care of Sam and protect him and make sure he's always okay. Sometimes it makes Sam feel so tiny because he's never been able to figure out what he ever did to deserve Dean's love and attention and undying devotion.

Dean closes his lips over one of Sam's nipples and sucks briefly, and then he moves further down to lick and kiss Sam's stomach, and Sam knows where he's heading and a wave of arousal crests over him at the thought but it isn't what he wants right now.

"Hey," he says softly, reaching down and sliding his fingers through Dean's short hair.

Dean looks up at him with his lips still touching Sam's abdomen and he looks like sex on legs.

"Can we skip to the, uh …" Sam locates the bottle of lube where Dean left it on the mattress and holds it up.

Dean raises an eyebrow and grins wryly. "You're saying you _don't_ want me to suck your cock."

Sam chuckles and shrugs sheepishly. "Later? Right now I just want …"

"What?" Dean crawls back up Sam's body and hovers over him on his hands and knees, lowering his head enough to _barely_ brush Sam's lips with his in a tantalizing promise of what's to come. "What d'you want, baby boy?"

Sam shivers and slides his hands up Dean's back. "You. Want us to be … y'know. Us, again."

"Hm." Dean trails the tip of his nose along Sam's cheek, and he reaches down between them and cups Sam's balls in his hand before he slides his fingers behind them and pets the tip of one against Sam's hole. "And you think if I stick something in here, we'll get it back?"

Sam laughs a little and flicks Dean's shoulder playfully. "Shut up. Mood-killer."

Dean laughs too, low and rich and like melted chocolate sliding down Sam's spine. He takes the lube from Sam and sits up, straddling Sam's hips again, to squeeze the gel onto his fingers. Sam pushes up to his elbows and extends one arm, smoothing his palm over both of their cocks where they're lying side by side on Sam's abdomen. Dean smiles and exhales shakily at Sam's touch. He digs his thumb into Dean's slit just to watch him squirm for a second, and then he picks them both up in his hand and strokes them slowly.

"Love the way we look together," he says quietly.

"Sap," Dean teases, but then he leans down to kiss Sam's lips and adds, "Me too."

He walks backwards on his knees off of Sam's lap, and Sam lets his legs fall open – exposed but trusting – so Dean can settle between them. He kisses the inside of Sam's thigh as his fingers trail warm and sticky over Sam's balls and further down. The first slide of Dean's finger into Sam is like finding water after months of being dehydrated. He'd never say it out loud to anyone but Dean, but having his brothers fingers – or any part of Dean's body – inside him centers him. It gives him peace and comfort and sweet pleasure like nothing else ever can. Dean pushes his finger in and draws it out and then repeats it, and Sam closes his eyes and just _feels_ it; ignores everything else and just floats in it.

Dean leans over, bracing himself on a hand next to Sam's head while his other hand opens Sam up, and he kisses Sam's cheek and whispers, "Love you," so quietly Sam almost doesn't hear it.

Sam had opened his eyes again and they slam closed at Dean's words – emotion hitting him thick and hard like a punch. There was a small part of him that was terrified Dean _didn't_ love him anymore, even though the rest of him knows that's impossible, and hearing Dean say it without Sam even saying it first makes Sam feel like crying in the best way possible.

He brushes the backs of his knuckles over Dean's cheek, blinking up into Dean's bright green eyes and finding truth and love and everything else he's ever needed in the pools of black and mossy green.

"Love you back," Sam murmurs. "More than you'll ever know."

Dean smiles a little and turns his face into Sam's hand. His fingers slide slowly in and out of Sam, and Sam honestly can't remember the last time they did this but it's been at least two months and, same as every other time they've stopped for a while, Sam never quite realizes how much he misses it until he gets it back. The way Dean makes him feel is so addictive and so unique to _them_ that it makes Sam crave it more than he ever craved Ruby's blood. Sex is sex but with Dean it's a million things more and Sam can't ever get enough of it. He's wanted it since he was twelve and jerking off shamefully in the middle of the night to images of his big brother, and he's been addicted to it since he was fifteen when everything changed and Dean finally gave in and let them both have what they'd been trying so hard not to want.

By the time Dean's got three fingers buried in Sam as far as they'll go Sam is buzzing inside and rocking down against Dean's hand and quickly losing the ability to think about anything but the way it feels. Dean knows just how to twist, how to go slow and then fast and back to slow, how to angle his fingers to brush against Sam's prostate and set fires under his skin.

"Dean," he breathes, holding onto his brother to keep himself in the moment.

"Ready?" Dean asks, bumping Sam's nose with his own.

"Yeah. C'mon. Want you."

Dean nods and gently slides his fingers out, and Sam knows he said to do it but his body still protests the loss and he wants Dean's fingers back as soon as they're gone. Dean sits up again and reaches for the lube, pouring it into his hand and spreading it over his hard, flushed cock with a shaky sigh at the feeling of his own touch. Sam is suddenly cold and alone and he knows Dean is only two feet away but he might as well be miles away for how much Sam wants him close again.

"Dean," he says again, reaching for him and knowing how pathetic he is right now but unable to help it.

Dean frowns at him and then crawls back over him, dipping down to kiss Sam and swiping his tongue around Sam's once or twice. "M'right here."

"I know," Sam mumbles. "I just …"

He doesn't know how to word what he's feeling, how many different thoughts and emotions are swirling around in his brain and all vying for his attention. Dean understands him, though, like he always does even when Sam doesn't understand himself.

"Got you, Sammy," he promises. "Not goin' anywhere."

Sam nods. Dean's said those exact words hundreds of times in their lives but they've maybe never meant as much as they do right now. Dean slides one hand slowly down Sam's side, over his hip and thigh, lifting his leg up gently. Sam lifts them both, planting his feet on the mattress, his knees bracketing Dean's hips, and Dean holds his gaze steady with Sam's as he lines his cock up with Sam's body and pushes forward slowly. The head slips past the tight ring of muscle and it pushes all the air out of his lungs. Intense and familiar, Dean moves forward, pushing himself into Sam in one long, slow thrust, and Sam's body tenses and releases at the same time and his synapses fire off in different directions and light him up like a switchboard.

"You okay?" Dean asks softly, shifting his weight to one elbow so he can smooth the hair off Sam's forehead.

Sam looks up and him and exhales slowly, letting himself get used to the feeling of Dean inside him and completely overwhelmed by the look in Dean's eyes. "Yeah. M'good, big brother."

Dean smiles at him – that soft, fond smile that's always reserved just for Sam – and dips down to kiss him as he starts to move. He rolls his hips slowly, his cock slipping out of Sam and then back into him in easy, delicious slides. Sam moans and clings to Dean's back. He loves this, loves the feeling of Dean inside him, surrounding him, clouding everything Sam can see and feel and think.

"Feels good?"

He doesn't really need to ask, and Sam doesn't really need to answer, especially after Dean's cock bumps into his prostate and he moans loudly. "Mmhm. Always so good."

Dean moans too and drops his head down onto Sam's shoulder. "Me too. God. Missed you so much, baby."

Sam moves suddenly – not sure what motivates him but suddenly nearly losing control of his own body – and flips them over so he's on top. He bounces on Dean's cock, grinding up and down so Dean moves in and out of him in deliciously rough slides, and he falls down to hold himself up with hands on either side of Dean's head and kisses Dean like he'll die if he stops. Dean kisses back as he thrusts his hips up in time with Sam's movements. Sam shudders in pleasure as Dean's cock bumps into his prostate, feeling like fireworks under his skin. He's in control from this position, and he takes the opportunity to move slower and then faster and then slower again – to drive Dean and himself crazy, to find the spot where they'll both lose it and to get close to it but never hit it on the head. Sam wants this to last. He wants to feel like he belongs to Dean again.

He moves on top of Dean for a while, Dean gripping tight fistfuls of Sam's hair and pushing his hips up into Sam's so his cock drives hard into Sam's ass. They move together in a practiced, experienced rhythm. Sam is sparked alive but at the same time he loves how familiar this is, how easy and comfortable it feels, like they both know every bit of this as well as they know everything else about each other.

Dean shoves his hand between them and curls his fingers around Sam's cock, squeezing it and stroking jerkily as they move and Sam mutters a bitten-off, "Fuck," at the added sensation. Then Dean flips them over again, landing on top of Sam hard and kissing him as he picks up the pace again.

"Harder," Sam chokes out, and Dean listens; his thrusts deepening and quickening and the hard tip of his cock crashing into Sam's prostate and Sam sees stars.

"So fuckin' good, Sammy," Dean rasps in Sam's ear, mouthing messily along his neck as he moves above Sam.

Sam moans, spots sparkling around the edges of his vision. He grips his brother, blunt fingernails digging into Dean's back, and tries to buck up against him but he barely can with Dean's weight pinning him to the mattress. Dean surrounds him, filling up all his senses to the point where they're overflowing and it's all too much, too good, too intense.

"Almost there?" Dean rasps.

"Fuck, yeah," Sam answers, his own voice coming out scratchy and wrecked. He moves his hands down to squeeze handfuls of Dean's ass, pushing his brother's body down so Sam's cock rubs between their stomachs.

"C'mon," Dean growls in his ear, "wanna see it."

"Don't stop," Sam pleads, his eyes slipping closed as it all becomes too much and throws him off the edge and spinning into a freefall. His cock jerks and spills between them, white hot pleasure zipping along the lines of his veins and his head swimming like he's drunk.

"_Dammit_, Sam," Dean's voice says from somewhere far away. "So god-damn sexy."

Vaguely, Sam's aware of Dean still moving on top of him, chasing his own release, and he tries to clench his muscles around Dean's cock and kiss him but mostly he's just a big pile of mush for Dean to use and Dean doesn't seem to mind at all. He slides his tongue into Sam's mouth and thrusts into him for another minute or two and then he grunts and comes too. Sam feels it inside, warm and slippery, and he manages to reach up to hold Dean's face in his hands while Dean twitches a few more times and his chest heaves.

"Dean," Sam whispers again. He has no follow-up; he just needs to say his brother's name because it's the only word that's ever really mattered.

Dean doesn't answer. He kisses Sam instead, slow and languid, while they come down. Then he pulls himself gently out of Sam and falls to the mattress beside him, pulling Sam immediately into his arms. Sam snuggles in close, his face pressed into Dean's neck and an arm draped over his chest, and breathes in the scent of them and the beautiful, hopeful feeling like maybe everything is really going to be okay this time, no matter what the world throws at them.

"Do you remember your first day of school?" Dean asks quietly.

Sam smiles. "No. Do you?"

"Yeah. You were really nervous about going. You'd already been upset for years that I went and left you, and then you thought when you were finally gonna go too that we'd be together. Like in the same class. And when you found out we weren't you freaked out. You were all crying and clinging to me and shit."

"What a wuss," Sam jokes, and Dean hums in agreement.

"I, uh … it's sick. But I remember liking it. Not that you were upset, but that you were in _my_ lap and not Dad's. That when you were scared, I could make you feel better. I really liked how much you needed me, you know?"

Sam frowns a little, because he can sort of tell now where this story is going. "I don't think that's sick. I think that's love, Dean. You think I don't like the moments when you come to me for help?"

"I took it too far, though, didn't I? I wouldn't let you grow up 'cause I didn't want you to stop needing me."

Emotion rises up in Sam's throat again. He pushes up onto his elbow so he can see his brother's sad green eyes, and then he dips down and kisses Dean's cheek. "I am never going to stop needing you. Never."

Dean nods but closes his eyes and doesn't look like be believes it, so Sam kisses his lips, slow and soft and hopefully reassuring.

"I mean it," he murmurs. "I want us to be equals when we hunt, when we make decisions about things. I wanna be _more_ than the kid that trails along after you all the time. That doesn't mean I'm ever gonna stop trailing after you. Or that I'll ever stop needing my big brother. I mean, look what happened when you were gone. How can you think I don't need you after that?"

Dean nods again and slides his fingers into Sam's hair, and Sam kisses him for another minute or two. He knows that's always been one of their biggest problems – Dean has always believed he needs Sam more than Sam needs him. He doesn't know how else to make Dean understand that it isn't true, but he's damn sure going to start trying harder. He lies back down, resting his head on Dean's shoulder and letting Dean hold him because that's one of the many ways Dean says _I love you_ and they both need it right now.

Then something occurs to Sam suddenly, and a small laugh bubbles up out of him.

"What?" Dean asks.

"You got us a nice bed so we could have make-up sex, didn't you?"

Dean doesn't answer for a minute, and then he laughs too, and tugs Sam in a little closer. "Maybe."

"You could'a just told me that."

"Maybe I wanted us to get there organically."

Sam laughs again and shakes his head. He kisses Dean's neck and then leaves his lips resting there. "You know, for all your … I don't know. Your whole tough-guy thing. Underneath that? You're really – "

"Don't say it," Dean interrupts.

"Don't say what?"

"Whatever you were about to say. Let's just agree I'm a badass mother-fucker and you can keep the hearts and flowers to yourself."

Sam chuckles again. "Okay. I won't say it. You are, though."

He can _hear_ Dean rolling his eyes, but then Dean kisses his forehead. "Don't tell anyone."

"I won't."


End file.
